This time, the Men

Talk about vanity. I have splashed the photos of the lovely ladies here. Vanity though is not the women's monopoly. The men, too, play vanity fair.

The men of this Law School come in different shapes and sizes too (depends on what you are measuring). My apologies to those I have not photographed. I still think, as an amateur photographer, women are better subjects than men. This time though, let's give it to the men. There are those who looked and smelled Cosmopolitan. Some are GQ quality. Some are just plain busy to create and I must admit I belong to this category and that is why I spared myself from this post.

You be the judge, ladies.

The Prom, one more time

Due to insistent public demand, I am bringing back the Prom blog in here with some photos published by request. Those who wanted to comment may just fire away. This is a free country.

Styf here asked her controversial photo published, so she has deemed to have waived her right to question this publication.Tisha has got some more here, and Cris too. Of course, we cannot accommodate everyone's request, but we're glad you did visit this blog and scribbled some comments. 

De minimus non curat lex

In our Torts class, the humor-mill-of-a-professor explained to us the idea that the law does not provide remedies for slights -- and gave us a Latin phrase de minimus non curat lex.

I must have remembered that Latin phrase Wednesday night while the Law School bratpack went on a golfing misadventure at a Korean-owned driving range near Southpoint School.

I brought my trusty driver and 8 and 5 irons for variety. Sweet brought a 9 and a 7, and no, not please...a putter. I forgot to tell her we are heading off to the driving range. That's excuseable. Da Colonel came dressed to the occasion. If the Shepherds of the game in the old Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews were awake , they would have risen from their grave and make this man an Honorary member with all the rights and privileges. Who goes to play golf in long sleeved shirt neatly tucked in jeans? Well, Da Colonel got away with it again.

He hit square a few balls which was impressive for a neophyte. Then came the shot that drew all the attention in the range. He took my 8 iron and blasted away. The ball dropped inches away from the tee. The club? It flew 25 yards away.

Da Colonel didn't even have to shout, "Fore!"

Then again, who cares? A newcomer gets away with so much.

De minimus non curat lex.

Musica ex machina (Music of the machine)

Looks can be deceiving.

I took a ride with my classmate Julius' sporty Honda Civic Tuesday night for dinner with the Law School bratpack (Adolf, Sweet, Karen G, Da Colonel, and me). The thought of a Bicol palate feast made me salivate right off the first gear. Since the ride will take a quarter of an hour, PNP's newest Colonel doodled his fingers on his car stereo. The selection was vast, huh. Earth, Wind and Fire, Beegees, ABBA, Beatles, Jon Bon Jovi. Impressive. Then he finally landed on his pick. Like a dj, he plucked his choice and played it.

You know what that was?

Rey Valera, dewds.

Yup. On a sporty Honda Civic with 17-inch chrome rims yet. You can imagine the blend of Rey Valera's sharp voice and the booming baritone of the car's Sebring exhaust pipe each time he steps on the gas.

What a man!

Oops, let's not risk running into trouble with a Police Senior Superintendent (PSS), or risk being barred from ever riding his wheels.

Da Colonel is not a bad singer afterall.

His favorite?

Rivermaya.

At least, he doesn't sing Rey Valera.

Peace, Colonel.

(Turncoat)